


Fairy Ring

by Babb1es



Series: Fairy Ring: Full Books and Misc. [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Ginny Weasley, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Hermione Granger, BAMF Luna Lovegood, BAMF Neville Longbottom, BAMF Ron Weasley, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Evil Albus Dumbledore, F/F, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Friendship, Ginny Weasley is a Little Shit, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry Potter is Not a Horcrux, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Hermione is a coffee addict, M/M, Male Ginny Weasley, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Other, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Sirius becomes the group dad, This is more like the mirror version of Dumbledore where he’s evil, This isn’t a bashing of Dumbledore, Trans Character, Trans Hermione Granger, do not make deals with the fae, sirius NO, sirius YES, ”These are my kids now I would die for them”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babb1es/pseuds/Babb1es
Summary: Keep your eyes up, watch where you put your feet.Was that a deer? No, merely what appeared to be a deer.Do not step on the mushrooms.The woods are silent now.One foot in front of the other, don't look back.Whatever you thought you saw is gone.Keep your eyes up.It will come back later.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley & Ron Weasley, Hannah Abbott/Susan Bones, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Series: Fairy Ring: Full Books and Misc. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105181
Kudos: 15





	1. Hosting and Homelessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry doesn’t like balloons very much.
> 
> Special thanks to vivaciousArcanist for helping with the plot, characters, and technical difficulties.

Harry James Potter was not having a good day.

And unsurprisingly, it had all started in the most painfully normal house to ever grace the face of the earth.

Number 4 Privet Drive.

The little white house had been his home for thirteen years. The sparkling windows, the precisely trimmed lawn, down to the picket fence that was meticulously kept cleaned and painted. The roses were having a particularly good year in the planter box. There were numerous beautiful red and yellow flowers, their colors reminding Harry of the Gryffindor common room. From the outside it was a lovely space, the epitome of suburban living.

The inside, however, was entirely the opposite.

The occupants of Number 4 Privet Drive were some of the most seemingly normal people on the planet. But to Harry, they were the meanest, nastiest people he had ever met. Dudley, his cousin, was spoiled rotten and found great fun in the Telly, computer games, and hunting his cousin for sport. Harry Hunting is what he called it. Dudley and his friends would chase Harry for hours after school, and once they caught him, they began kicking him senseless. They stopped catching him after a while, as he began hiding in places where they would never think to look.

His Aunt, Petunia Dursley, was long. She had a long neck, a long face, and long legs. She towered over him in her cheerful 1950s dress when he was small, sneering at him to get up and start his chores. Petunia had a shrill tone and a sharp tongue. She hated his hair, she hated his eyes, but most of all she hated his magic. All magic, actually. It simply didn’t fit into her worldview, and so she saw it as unnatural. So she cut his hair so it wouldn’t be unruly. She got him cheap glasses so she wouldn’t have to see his eyes. But she couldn’t stamp out his magic, no matter how hard she tried.

And to complete the terrible trio, there was his Uncle Vernon. Vernon was a big man with a short temper, and seething, fanatical hatred towards anything unnatural or unordinary. It wasn’t just magic he hated, but anything that didn’t fit into his personal definition of what respectful, ordinary folks do. Colored hair, alternative music, tattoos, etc. He had quite literally tried to beat the magic out of Harry with his big meaty fists.

Unsurprisingly, as Harry was about to start his third year at Hogwarts, Vernon had failed in achieving that.

And so the occupants of Number 4 Privet Drive had taken to ignoring Harry, unless it was for chores. They didn’t beat him anymore, and Dudley learned his lesson about chasing him for hours on end. Now he was just an annoying nuisance.

And with that blatant exposition, we begin Harry Potter’s very, very bad day.

Like all days it began in the morning. The sun’s rays were coming through the window, warming the east end of the house. Unfortunately, Harry’s bedroom was on the west side, meaning no morning sunlight for him. Instead of being roused by that wonderful star in the sky keeping us all alive, he was awoken abruptly by loud pounds on his door accompanied by Aunt Petunia yelling at him to get his ungrateful self out of bed.

Harry swung his feet out of bed, and his hands fumbled a bit searching for his glasses on the nightstand. Today was the day his Aunt Marge would be coming over. That meant he would be polishing, cleaning, dusting, cooking, mopping, sweeping, and washing for the foreseeable future. He didn’t like Aunt Marge. She was loud, rude, and took immense joy in the breeding of bulldogs.

Very, very, angry bulldogs.

“BOY! GET DOWN HERE!”

And that shrieking would be Aunt Petunia. Harry sighed and picked up a small Walkman from its spot on his bedside table. It was a birthday gift from Hermione and Ron. He worked better with something to listen to. The noise created a sort of limbo where it was only him, the music, and the task. Harry hit play, and exited his room.

There was work to do.

-8:32 AM-

She had him sweep and vacuum the entire house. Twice. Harry shot a resentful glare at the back of Dudley’s head as he tracked in dirt and grass on the freshly cleaned floor. 

Windows. He should wash the windows. It was an easy, attention consuming task. Something that would keep Harry from throwing a hex or ten at his cousin.

-11:28 AM-

Ah yes, the forbidden domain. A place of unending horrors and mind breaking terror. A chaotic, lawless landscape of filth and shameless gluttony.

Dudley’s bedroom.

Harry, brave Gryffindor he was, shouldered his broom and declared war on the junk covered floor.

-1:45 PM-

His fingers hurt. Harry was certain with all the constant washing and drying he had done that his fingerprints were gone at this point. They felt smooth. That wasn’t normal. 

-3:37 PM-

How do you even get that much mud on the floor? How? That shouldn’t be humanly possible! Every day Dudley steps closer and closer to not needing a transfiguration from Hagrid to become a pig. Harry paused in his vigorous attempts to work a hole through to the floor to skip a song he didn’t want to listen to. 

Queen is a good choice for this. It gives him motivation to get through this and not alert the Ministry with multiple cleaning charms from an underage wizard in an unsecured area. Harry grit his teeth and pushed the mop again a bit more aggressively than strictly necessary.

-5:22 PM-

Uncle Vernon would be back around eight. He should start getting everything ready. Dinner must not be late. Bon Jovi’s vocals may have caused Harry to cut a bit deeper into the cutting board by accident.

Aunt Petunia was glaring at him. Sheepishly, he turned down the volume several notches to the point where hopefully she couldn’t hear it.

-7:49 PM-

Aunt Petunia wants him to change? Fine. He’ll change. But he’s going to wear the shirt identical to several he had seen his father wear in the old photos he stole from the attic.

Pure coincidence of course. Most certainly not out of spite.

-8:29 PM-

The hand on the clock struck 8:30 pm just as Harry opened the door to welcome Aunt Marge inside. Well the welcome wasn’t quite sincere, but that really didn’t merit her massive umbrella being shoved into his chest and having his shoulder being smacked roughly into the wall. Harry edged his leg out of the way as the monster on a leash accompanying her passed him by. He was not going to explain to the nice paramedics why there was a massive “wild dog bite” seeping blood from his calf. Once was enough.

Uncle Vernon stepped through the doorframe shortly after. While Marge talked to Dudley in the exact same baby voice she used for her dogs, Harry was busy trying to get his uncle to sign the small slip of parchment that would let him be free to go to Hogsmeade. He takes a deep breath and asks in his politest tone.

“Uncle Vernon?”

”Hm?” His uncle barely acknowledged him.

”I need you to sign this form.” Harry was silently praying to whatever deity that loved to make his life miserable to lay off for five minutes. Just five minutes.

“What is it?” Vernon shucked his drenched raincoat, taking great care not to splash any water on the walls. The same care was not extended to Harry. 

“Er, nothing. Just school stuff.”

The vaguest mention of the castle’s name was enough to light the fuse of Vernon’s temper, which usually led to screaming and Harry being locked in his room. Reducing it to unimportant ‘school stuff’ would keep things mostly peaceful.

“Later perhaps, if you behave.” 

Vernon was being peaceful? And giving him a chance?! Harry was going to build a shrine for that deity. With gold and offerings and stuff. Harry followed his Uncle into the dining room. His newfound good mood however, had evaporated the moment he stepped into the doorway.

“You’re still here, are you?” Those words were said with the most unimpressed tone he’d ever heard come from someone other than Professor Snape. The person they came from was even more alike in the sense she seemed to suck all the joy from the immediate vicinity. 

“Yes?” Harry half asks, his annoyance clearly seeping through in his voice. This was a bad decision.

“Don’t say ‘Yes’ in that ungrateful way,” Aunt Marge said, handing the dog leash off to Aunt Petunia without so much as looking at the woman. “It was far too good of my brother to keep you.” She turned to Aunt Vernon.

“It’d have been straight to the orphanage if he’d been dumped on my doorstep.” 

The vile woman’s attention was drawn to Dudley as he laughed, her behavior completing a 180 in a heartbeat. It was good that she had turned away to smother the other boy with her attention, otherwise she would have seen Harry’s hands tighten into trembling fists.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

-9:13 PM-

The clinking of dishes and small talk only seemed to annoy Harry more as the night went on. Usually he could block these things out, and retreat into a daydream. But tonight nothing seemed to be working. 

Harry tried to be as subtle as possible while furiously scrubbing a stain on the plate he was holding. Obliterating the unwanted food substance from the surface of his Aunt’s fine china was his only anger outlet for the time being. Bits of conversation floated in and out of his focus.

“They use a cane at St. Brutus’ boy?”

It took Harry’s brain a second to realize that Aunt Marge was in fact speaking to him. His eyes flicked to Uncle Vernon, who’s eyebrows rose in a way that screamed ‘Behave’. Realizing that this could be his ticket into Hogsmeade, he swallowed his pride and answered the question.

“Oh! Oh, yeah. I’ve been beaten loads of times.” Harry nodded confirmingly, to solidify the statement to the woman. 

“Ha! Good! I won’t have this namby pamby, wishy washy nonsense about not beating people who deserve it.” Marge rolled her eyes and returned to her wine glass, waving a hand at her brother.

“You really mustn’t blame yourself for how this one turned out, it’s all in the blood. Bad blood! What was it the boy's father did again, Petunia?” She took a long swig. 

Harry felt dread build up in the bottom of his stomach. He turned away from the family, resting his hands against the countertop. He knew where this conversation was going.

Aunt Petunia’s response was nervous. “Nothing. He-he didn’t work, he was unemployed.” Harry didn’t see her briefly glance at him, then away again.

Harry’s knuckles were white from gripping the edge so tightly. Red hot anger blasted its way through the former dread.

“And a drunk too, no doubt?” Marge scoffed.

“ _That’s a lie_.”

The words dropped out of Harry’s mouth before he realized what he’d said. But it was too late to take them back now. The floodgates were open, and his magic sparked to life inside of him.

“What did you say?” Marge demanded.

“My dad wasn’t a drunk!” He turned around to fix his aunts with a potent glare. Marge started back, her mouth ready to give some type of retort before suddenly her wine glass shattered to bits in her hand. Aunt Petunia shrieked in surprise.

Marge rushed to rationalize what had just happened. 

“Oh don’t worry Petunia, i-I have a very firm grip!” She chuckled. Petunia glanced from her to Vernon to Harry. Vernon glared at Harry over his sister's shoulder. Harry, in a rare moment of open defiance, shrugged his shoulders and gave Vernon his best ‘What do you want from me?’ look.

Vernon nodded at him. “I think it’s time you went to bed.” It was less of a suggestion, and more of an order to get out of the room. Harry had only taken a single step away from the counter when Marge unknowingly decided to make things worse.

“Oh, quiet Vernon! You,” She snapped her fingers at Harry and pointed at her plate. “Clean it up.” 

Harry grit his teeth, and snatched a towel to collect the shards with. Of course the foul woman entirely ignored him, continuing on her rant.

“Actually, it’s nothing to do with the father. It’s always to do with the mother.” Marge emphasized the sentence with her hands. Petunia had a mild sheen of sweat on her face. Harry was failing at keeping his anger from showing on his face, and she could tell that bad things were going to happen.

“You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’s something wrong with the pup!” She declared.

Harry had enough. He threw down the towel and screamed, “Shut up! SHUT UP!” He was furious. This woman knew next to nothing about his parents, about his family. She had no right to speak about them like that. The lights flickered and the plates rattled. Harry’s magic was reacting to his distress.

Marge seemed unconcerned with his outburst. If anything, she looked indignant rather than angry. No one noticed the previously proud bulldog cowering beneath the table, as far from Harry as his leash would allow. She turned towards him and propped her elbow on the table, pointing her finger like he was a troublesome toddler.

“Well! Let me tell you…” Marge began and suddenly trailed off. Which was fair, as her finger tip that had previously been imperiously pointed at him was now swollen beyond nature width. And continued to do so down her finger. 

Harry realized with a small state of panic, that he might have unconsciously cast a spell in his anger. Marge’s entire body followed the state of her finger, ballooning outwards, stressing seams on her clothes. And then, she actually started to rise up in the air. Her necklace stressed, and then broke the beads shooting out and away. One hit the clock on the far wall. She screeched in panic and tried to grab the table, but only succeeded in getting the tablecloth. 

Petunia was shrieking, the dog was barking, Vernon was panicking. The family’s fine china now laid shattered on the floor, and the carpet was covered with ruined food. It was chaos. Marge bounced off the ceiling, and then started floating backwards. Out of the door. Into the greenhouse. Which doors were...open.

Harry was frozen. He shared a glance with Dudley, and in that short moment of eye contact the other boy put up his hands in a surrender position and stepped to the side of the doorframe.

Marge was now floating outside, and didn’t look like she would stop. Vernon grabbed a hold of her to keep her grounded. When he started floated upwards as well, Harry knew it was a lost cause. He stormed past Dudley, and stomped up the stairs to his room.

He made his decision. He was leaving, and he had packing to do.

  
  


-9:41 PM-

His trunk thumped against the stairs behind him. He didn’t bother with Hedwig's cage, just set her free outside a window with a note to Ron to take care of her. But Harry’s thoughts were quickly interrupted by a fuming Vernon cornering him on the stairs and screaming in his face.

“YOU BRING HER BACK! YOU BRING HER BACK NOW, YOU OUT HER RIGHT!” Spit flew from the large man's mouth. The look in his small eyes was unhinged anger.

Harry refused to back down. Not this time. 

“No! She deserved what she got!” He shouted right back at his uncle. This was the catalyst that set Vernon into motion, grabbing Harry with intent to slam him into the wall. Harry pulled out his wand and jammed it against his uncle’s neck.

“Keep away from me.” Harry stepped forward, and Vernon stepped back. The look of anger was replaced by fear and panic. The man shook his head back and forth frantically, keeping his eyes on the piece of wood.

“You’re not allowed to use magic outside school.” The sentence might have held some merit if Vernon’s voice didn’t crack while saying it.

“Oh yeah?” Harry said. “Try me!” 

“They won’t let you back now. You’ve nowhere to go!” He was backpedaling away from Harry, keeping his eyes locked on to him. 

“I don’t care, anywhere is better than here!” And with that final statement Harry threw open the door, and left Number 4, Privet Drive.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO you might be wondering why my very first consecutive fanfiction is a hate fic. You weren’t before, as you had no idea, but now you are.
> 
> This technically qualifies as a hate fic towards another hate fic. The story in question is titled Partially Kissed Hero on Fanfiction.net. Personally, I like to call it The Abomination as it is a 400,000 word pile of hatred and bigotry. 
> 
> It doesn’t start completely awful. It’s seems somewhat normal in the first chapter, very OOC, but not particularly malicious.
> 
> However, it does not stay that way. The story goes of the deep end into the realm of WTF as soon as the second chapter, and only gets worse from there.
> 
> There are two options here for context. 
> 
> Read the fic for yourself, which is a very tedious task since it consists of 103 chapters.
> 
> OR the quicker option of reading the TV Tropes article which does a fairly decent job at outlining everything wrong with it.
> 
> https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/PartiallyKissedHero
> 
> Now what is the reason for me creating a hate fic towards the hate fic? PKH does have some interesting ideas and plot threads that could be worked with on their barebones structure if one takes all the EW out of it. 
> 
> And that’s what this fic is. Fairy Ring is what PKH would be if all the misogyny, racism, sexism, pedophilia, murder, sociopathy, unnecessary slapstick, bad writing, paragraphs of exposition, apathy, genocide, stolen work, character mouthpieces, the harems, horrendous pacing, and constant power ups were removed from the story whilst staying a bit more faithful to Potter canon.


	2. Canines and Cars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traffic safety laws are carefully reviewed and immediately discarded.
> 
> Special thanks to vivaciousArcanist for helping with the plot, characters, and technical difficulties.

-10:20 PM August 12, 1993-

Harry whacked his forehead against his knees several times. He must have looked crazy, sitting there on the sidewalk abusing his poor kneecaps with his stupid, thick head.

He should have thought this through. He should have just gone to bed when Uncle Vernon told him to and he would be fine. Aunt Marge would still be horrible, but she wouldn’t be floating in the sky going to God knows where. What if his magic wore off while she was in the sky? Harry felt sick to his stomach at the thought of it. 

He remembered the expression on Uncle Vernon’s face when he threatened him with his wand. Horrible or not, he never wanted to make another person that terrified of him again.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes to remove the slight sting from tears, then stopped. There was no one here to judge him. Everyone in the nearby houses would be in bed or relaxing right now. The cold, wet curb was as good a place to cry as any other. The best probably, given that it was rather secluded.

Underneath a yellow street lamp, Harry began to cry. He couldn’t tell if it was from sorrow, guilt, euphoria, or anger. He was too overwhelmed by every that had happened to care. His sobs were interrupted often by shuddering breaths and loud sneezes. He needed to get up, find shelter. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to get up from that curb. He curled into himself, pulling his legs as close to his body as possible.

Harry didn’t know how much time had passed before he seemed to exhaust himself of tears. He sat quietly, sniffling now and again. But the full body wracking sobs had passed, and he could think straight again. That is until his only source of light above him began to flicker and go out.

He scowled up at the now dark bulb. Just what he needed tonight of all nights. Alone on the streets, now with no light. Harry reached into his back pocket to pull out his Walkman, but stopped. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Something wasn’t quite right.

The air was different. A slight wind was blowing, rustling the swings in the old playground. Something thumped behind him and Harry whipped around, wand in hand to see…the see-saw had fallen over onto the grass. He lowered his wand, internally scolding himself for being so jumpy. He turned back to the road, only to freeze.

He had felt a lot of emotions tonight. But he hadn’t yet felt terror. Not till now.

There was a dog. A massive, shaggy, snarling dog. He raised his wand, a spell on the tip of his tongue the same time the canine lunged. 

Both actions were interrupted however by the incredibly loud bus horn accompanied with blinding headlights. Harry fell backwards on the sidewalk in surprise and raised his arm to block the light that destroyed whatever night vision he might have had.

The bus rolled to a stop in front of him. Dazed, Harry found himself reading KNIGHT BUS through the spots in his eyes. The particularly violent shade of purple the bus was painted wasn’t helping.

A tall, slightly disheveled looking man clunked down the stairs on the back of the bus. He wasn’t looking at Harry, but down at a yellowed slip of paper in his hand.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus. Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor for this evening.” He said, in a bored tone, like he had read the paper a hundred times. 

He probably has.

The man tucked the paper into his coat pocket, and looked around. His eyes landed on Harry who was currently sitting in a puddle, trying to get rid of the very fascinating colors that were ruining his vision.

“What’chu doin’ down there?” Stan asked. He was leaning down a bit, looking as confused as Harry. 

“I fell over?” Harry answered. He rose to his feet unsteadily and froze once again when he felt a cold nose nudge at his leg. He very slowly looked down to see the same massive dog sitting patiently at his feet, wagging its tail.

Harry blinked, and slowly edged away from the canine. Who scooted closer to him in retaliation. 

Stan raised a bushy eyebrow at him. Harry wiped his hands on his jeans, nervous under the scrutiny. The conductor rolled his eyes and waved his hand in an exaggerated gesture for Harry to come aboard. 

“Well, come on then! Let’s not wait for the grass to grow.” 

He hopped down from the bus, unintentionally landing in a puddle and sending out a spray of water. Harry spared one more glance at the dog before reaching for his trunk. 

And then found himself blocked off by the messy but well meaning man. 

“No no no, I’ll get this. You get in.” He threw one thumb over his shoulder at the bus. Harry didn’t really have any energy left to argue, and stumbled up the stairs. He heard the click of overgrown claws behind him indicating that the mysterious dog was determined to follow him.

It was perhaps the strangest bus Harry had ever seen. Instead of seats, there were numerous wheeled beds. He slowly stepped around a slumbering witch, careful not to wake her. The clinking of glass drew his attention upwards to see a rather out of place chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There were more faint snores from beds on the upper levels. 

Footsteps clunked behind him, and Harry was ushered forward to a bed by the Conductor. The dog hopped up beside him, easily taking up half of the blanket. Stan leaned up against the window, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes. He rolled a lever on the small machine hanging from his neck, which made a cheerful ding when a slip of paper popped out. He handed the paper to Harry, who then realized that it was a bus ticket. He quickly tucked it into his pocket.

The rapping on the window and the “Take ‘Er away Ernie.” were his only warning before the bus suddenly lurched into motion, the force throwing Harry on his back. He scrambled upwards and almost threw up when he glanced out the window. The bed was rolling violently with the unnatural speed that they were moving at. He shut his eyes and wrapped his hand tightly around the bedpost. There was a bit of snuffling before a heavy weight dropped in his lap. He looked down to see two big brown eyes looking at him with worry.

Harry closed his eyes. He was too tired to deal with this right now. However his attempts to pass out sitting up were interrupted by Stan, who was looking at him curiously.

“What did you say your name was again?” He asked.

“I didn’t.” Harry grumbled. Stan remained unaffected by his attitude.

“Well, whereabouts are you ‘eaded?” 

“The Leaky Cauldron.” Harry said. Remembering his incident with the Floo that ended with him in Knockturn Alley, he quickly added, “That’s in London.” 

Stan nodded and relayed the information to the driver. Harry was in for a bumpy ride.

-10:45 PM August 12, 1993-

Harry’s eyes were glazed over. The constant blurring of lights and color outside had eventually proven to be too much, and his gaze was now fixed on a knot in the floorboards. He distantly wondered what type of wood they were. 

Motion and crinkling paper gathered his attention. He looked up to come face to face with a mute screaming lunatic. Watching the same motions be repeated over and over again, his brain caught up to what he was seeing. An article in the Daily Prophet. 

“Who is that? That man?” The question caught Stan a bit off guard. Up until this point the boy had been mostly silent, save for quiet mumbling and the occasional aborted stomach lurch. Stan folded the newspaper paper over to see what he was asking about. ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN stared back at him in large, elaborate font.

He gave the boy an incredulous look. There was no way this kid hadn’t heard of Sirius Black.

“Who is that? Wh-who is that?” Stan stuttered, turning the paper around to point at the picture for affirmation just in case. Seeing Harry’s nod his jaw dropped in shock.

“That is Sirius Black that is! Don’t tell me you’ve never been hearing of Sirius Black?” Harry shook his head tiredly. The dog beside had perked up a bit in interest. Interest in what, no one knows. 

Stan leaned down to emphasize his words. “He’s a _murderer_. Got himself locked up in Azkaban for it.” He wilted a bit on the inside when he saw the kids eyes go wide. He really didn’t know anything, did he? 

The canine's ears flattened and his lips drew back in a foreboding snark at the mention of criminal. Stan took a bit of comfort that wherever this clueless kid was going, he had a friend to protect him. Even wizards were wary of dogs, especially those as mean looking as the one in front of him.

Harry knew enough. Murderer on the loose, escaped from the previously inescapable prison, probably a Voldemort supporter from the way people talk about him. If he took in anymore information today, his brain might just shut down and send him into a coma.

He leaned back against the flat pillow and slept for the rest of the ride.

-11:02 PM August 12, 1993-

Harry Potter stood at the register desk of the Leaky Cauldron, one hand loosely gripping his trunk and the other laying on the visitor bell. He winced a little bit when he rang the bell again. The cheerful ding was too high and too loud. And he was too tired.

When someone did come to the desk they were understandably annoyed as it was very late. Harry quickly paid for the cheapest room available, which unfortunately was on the second floor and the other side of the building. He groaned as trudged up the stairs, one by one. He didn’t really hear Tom rushing down the hallway trying to tell him the Minister was here and wanted to speak with him. His mind was singularly focused on the bed sitting quietly by the window.

He didn’t even bother locking the door before letting go of his suitcase and throwing himself on the covers. 

And then when he closed his eyes, he finally brought an end to Harry James Potter’s very, very bad day.


End file.
